What It's Like
by LadyAbbith
Summary: Bulma is the ultimate career mom, juggling parenting, her job, and her company all on her own. Vegeta is a ruthless prince of a fallen race with a dark past. Both are jaded from one another's lack of perspective; neither one understands the other. But maybe all they need is to get a dose of what it's like in one another's shoes... Rated M for language & later sexual content.
1. What It's Like

**A/N: Hey, guys! Gonna try my hand for the first time at writing a multi-chapter fic... and posting it before I actually have it done. Yikes! And I also wanted to do something a little less... heavy. Something more humor-oriented. So, if you're still interested, great! Read on...**

The woman was on a tirade again. Here they were, almost forty-five minutes later, and the only time she had shut her mouth was to take a breath. _Well, that could easily be remedied,_ Vegeta thought dryly. He took a breath of his own to ebb his rising irritation. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of his own heartbeat to steady himself. It was no use; the woman's voice was an unstoppable force that wreaked havoc on his concentration.

"… I mean, I'm not asking you to be 'Daddy of the Year,' Vegeta, but if you're going to stay here, is a little help too much to ask?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Woman, have you completely lost your mind? Maternal duties are _your_ responsibility. Women have borne and raised children since the dawning of the ages, and that is not about to change now."

"I'm just asking you to watch him while I get some work done! I am so behind on my project, and I need to do some last minute checks on Trunks' Time Machine, and my crew needs some _firm_ guidance, to be honest… I swear, if you don't follow behind these people every step of the way…"

The Prince pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Never mind that the world had almost ended merely _hours_ ago; never mind that he had just watched Cell slaughter his son right in front of him; never mind that he had exhausted nearly every bit of energy he'd had when he'd lost control at the sight of his son's body; and never mind that all he wanted to do now was rest—the woman had _work_ to do, and Kami forbid it be done any other time but now.

"…but I really think once I get that lined out, then I can work on the project and get a huge chunk of it knocked out in a few hours, if I can do it Trunks-free—"

"For the last time, I am _not_ caring for the brat in your stead. I am not the boy's keeper. If you want time alone, then find someone else," Vegeta snarled, starting to walk away. He caught the flash of fury in her eyes as he turned.

"Well, fine! It's not as if any of this is important or anything! It's not as if…" she trailed off as the Prince walked away. "Excuse me? Where in the hell do you think you're going? I'm talking to you!"

"No, you are screeching at me. 'Talking' denotes a much calmer tone of voice that leaves room for civil response," he retorted, not even bothering to turn and look at her. He sighed; so much for going to rest. At this rate, the woman wouldn't stop harping until next Thursday. "I'm going to train," he said flatly.

"Oh no you don't," Bulma said huffily, grabbing his arm. "I don't think so. If I'm not getting any work done, then neither are you."

Vegeta's eyes widened in response. "Ridiculous wench. You think you can stop me?"

"Don't test me, buddy."

He grit his teeth, infuriated by her insolence. "Woman, I will do what I want, when I want. A pathetic female like yourself will hardly get in my way." He shook his arm free and took off walking at a quick pace toward the Gravity Chamber, leaving Bulma to run in order to catch up to him. He heard her nagging behind him the whole way there.

"Dammit, Vegeta, if you would just watch him for a couple of hours—" her voice instantly became muffled as the door slid closed behind him. On the other side of the door, Bulma's temper rose from irritated to downright pissed off. "Vegeta, you rude, arrogant son of a bitch! Open this door right now!" She pounded on the door for good measure, but it was no use. She watched through the window as the lights dimmed inside and the Prince began his warm-up routine. "Vegeta! If you don't open this door right now, so help me—"

Said Prince continued his pushups uninterrupted, as if she weren't even there. Bulma huffed indignantly, crossing her arms as she all but stomped over to the override pad. "Well, fine then. Have it your way…" she heard the simulator whirring to a halt as she entered the last of the digits and snapped the lid back over the keys. A moment later, an irate Saiyan was inches from her face.

"What the fuck, woman?! I told you I was going to train and I damn well meant it. Leave me alone!" he fumed.

"And I told you if I wasn't getting work done, then neither were you."

Vegeta scowled. "I am _not_ watching the boy, and that's final. Now leave. Me. Alone!" he began to walk back inside the chamber.

"God, Vegeta! He's your son, too, and you never even _look_ at him! It's like you don't even give a damn if he lives or dies!"

That struck a chord, and it struck deep. The Prince froze, eyes wide, before turning back to face her. He strode back up to her, his nose nearly touching hers.

"Don't presume that you know a _damned thing_ about how I think or feel," he breathed, his tone deadly. "You have no idea what happened today—none at all. So before you open your ridiculous fucking mouth and let whatever asinine thought that crosses your mind spill out of it, you may want to learn all of your facts first." For a fleeting moment, Bulma could swear she saw a flash of pain in his eyes behind all of that rage and deadly anger. He turned and walked briskly away.

"Vegeta… wait. I—"

Before she could finish, the Prince took to the sky; she lost sight of him within moments. Bulma sighed, rubbing at her eyes. Why did she have to go and say that that way? True, she'd never really seen Vegeta give Trunks so much as a second glance, but obviously something had happened today that had changed the Saiyan's perspective. He obviously _did_ care, whether he showed it or not; that much was apparent by his reaction. The heiress shook her head, sucking at her teeth; if he did, then, what was the big deal with him watching their son for a couple of hours? Surely after today, he would _want_ to spend more time with their son. _Maybe he's afraid to,_ a voice sounded in her head. She rolled her eyes. Men—they were all the same, no matter what planet they were from. Give them any opponent or opportunity to look death in the eye, and they'll meet it head-on—but make them responsible for a child, and they turn into a nervous wreck.

"Is everything ready to go for tomorrow?" a male voice asked from behind her.

Bulma spun around quickly. "Trunks! You scared me half to death!" She placed her hand over her racing heart.

Trunks chuckled lightly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was just checking to see how the preparations were coming. I know how you are about wanting to check everything for yourself."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Well, if your father would stop being such a stubborn ass, I would be working on it right now. I need someone to watch baby Trunks while I get some work done."

Trunks' demeanor changed instantly. The smile faltered and was replaced by one more nervous and hesitant. He began to back away. "Oh, well… in that case…"

Bulma rolled her eyes. _Really?_ "Trunks, could you please watch him for me until I get finished? Who knows when your father will come back, and I _have_ to get this done."

The young man's shoulders slumped in defeat—there was really no room for argument in her tone. "Yes, mother," he replied dully.

"Great," she said, already taking off in the infant's direction, Trunks obediently following behind her. "I've already fed him and put him down for a nap, so all you'll have to do is be here for when he wakes up." She walked over to the door, checked that her infant son was indeed still sleeping, then turned back to his future counterpart. "If you need anything, you know my cell number," she said briskly, starting to walk back to the front door. "Have fun!"

"Wait—is everything alright between the two of you?" Trunks asked hesitantly. His parents' affairs were none of his business, that much he knew, but as he never knew his father in his own timeline, he couldn't help but wonder how their relationship would fair here. He wanted this reality's version of himself to grow up with two parents constantly in his life.

Bulma paused, slowly turning back to the door. "Fine," she said evenly. "Why?"

"Well… I couldn't help but notice Father's energy level during your discussion," he admitted awkwardly. "It was rising pretty rapidly like it normally does when he gets angry, but then, all of the sudden… it just plummeted." Trunks faltered, shifting his feet. "I tried not to listen… It's none of my business, but I mean…"

Bulma smiled slightly. Some children's worries were the same everywhere, no matter how old they were or what timeline they were from. "Your Dad and I are fine. Fighting is what we do. We just have a lot of trouble understanding where each other comes from sometimes, so we fight. But it doesn't mean we don't care about each other. Even if that stubborn Saiyan won't let himself admit it," she finished with a wink.

Trunks stood there for a moment, letting what she said sink in. "Yeah, I guess," he said finally.

"Look. Don't worry about us. We'll be just fine. Now, if you need anything with the baby, give me a call, okay?" Bulma opened the door and stepped out.

"Sure thing. Good luck," he said, but his tone lacked its usual conviction; it was flat and empty, his mind focused on other things.

Trunks walked into the infant's room, sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. How much did he believe of what his mother told him? He wasn't sure he knew. The words she said _seemed_ genuine enough, but her tone had that false high-pitched tone she got when she was trying to convince herself of something. Maybe his parents weren't as well off as his mother would like to think. Maybe the fighting had reached a point beyond what was normal, and it was reaching irreparable territory. And maybe, if that was indeed the case, his father wouldn't stick around after all; he'd head back into space to claim what was his, and Trunks would once again grow up knowing what it was like to be without a father. Only this time, it would be much worse. Sure, it was painful knowing his father had fallen in battle, but that would be nothing compared to the bitter resentment of knowing his father had abandoned him and his mother. No—he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. But what could he do? He was going to leave this timeline within a few hours to go back home. He would have no way of knowing or controlling how things turned out here once he left. The half-Saiyan ran a hand through his hair. He wanted so badly to make sure this timeline's version of himself had two caring parents in his life, but without the Dragon Balls, there was no way possible to make it happen. He leaned back in the rocking chair, closing his eyes. He struggled for any other option to come to mind, but the weighing exhaustion in his mind quickly overwhelmed him. Before he succumbed to it, he thought a silent prayer for something—_anything_—to help them see eye to eye, and finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

Bulma held her breath as she soldered the last wires into place. She had finished some more notes on her project, and after helping her crew get back on track, she finally had a free moment to inspect Trunks' Time Machine. It had indeed suffered some minor damage upon Trunks' return, and she was glad she managed to acquire the quiet, stress-free time needed to inspect the damage. What kind of mother would she be if she didn't check everything over one last time before sending her son back home? If someone sent _her_ baby home that way, she would be furious. And speaking of furious…

Ugh. That man of hers. It really irked her that she had to ask the future version of her son, a young man that, really, she barely knew, to watch her baby boy. Really, what was so terrifying or uncomfortable about watching your own flesh and blood for a few hours? _He needs time_, she reminded herself. _Yeah, time and maybe a hard smack upside the head, _she thought bitterly. She knew her more logical thinking was right, but dammit, she was _not_ a patient woman. She'd been with the stubborn Saiyan for three years, now. How long was it going to take?

She drew a breath to calm herself. Yes, Vegeta was the ultimate trial for her patience, but she knew that, deep down, he'd come around in the end. She wouldn't have gotten together with him in the first place if she didn't. No one else believed there were any redeeming qualities about him—in fact, they questioned her sanity for loving the callous Saiyan Prince. But Bulma knew better. She knew there was redemption lurking beneath that rough exterior, redemption the others just simply couldn't see; redemption he couldn't even see in himself.

So, in the end, that was what had kept her with him, and what would continue to keep her there. She knew the stubborn ass would be back as soon as he'd had time to cool off, so she wasn't worried. She just wished she'd done a better job of putting Trunks' mind at ease, too.

Just as she was finishing molding the last wire into place, her cell phone rang, breaking her concentration. Her hand slipped just the slightest bit, causing the wire to spark and smoke. Bulma growled in frustration, snatching her phone up angrily before answering it. "Capsule Corp., Bulma Briefs speaking," she said in a high-pitched tone—one that clearly conveyed her annoyance. "No, I asked for that shipment to go out yesterday…"

As she continued her phone conversation, she didn't even notice as her soldering iron sat just a little too close to the motherboard, the heat causing it to warp ever so slightly. "Yes, please make sure that it's taken care of. I need those parts by tomorrow. Yes. Thank you, have a good day. Bye." Bulma snapped her phone shut, finished soldering the wire in place, and returned the motherboard to its casing, completely unaware of the damage. She then stood up, stretched, and reached for her purse, heading to relieve Trunks of his babysitting duties. After all, she was a woman with many obligations, but being a mother by far ranked as her favorite job, even if it was the most difficult one she had ever tackled. She just wished her Prince was empathetic towards her struggles, too. "He will be, one day," she encouraged herself. "One day, he'll understand completely."

It was dark in the bedroom, no light save for the moonlight spilling into the window and onto the floor. It was after two o'clock in the morning, and Bulma was in bed, having just fallen asleep on her left side. She exhaled, pulling her pillow down closer to her chest as she snuggled her face into it. Behind her, the clicking of a latch broke the stillness, followed by the sliding of the window pane as a man climbed silently through. He closed it noiselessly behind him, and then proceeded to take off his boots in the quiet. After stripping off his armor, he climbed into the bed, settling himself to where he was facing the opposite direction of the heiress. He closed his eyes, already beginning to succumb to his exhaustion.

"I was wondering if you were coming back tonight or not," Bulma mumbled quietly against her pillow.

Vegeta scowled, but gave no response. So much for avoiding conversation.

Bulma turned over, pressing herself against him and placing kisses on the back of his neck, using her hands to lightly massage his shoulders. "Vegeta, what happened today?"

Vegeta exhaled in annoyance. "Woman, I'm tired. I do not wish to discuss this right now." She pushed lightly for him to turn over onto his stomach, and when he obliged, she straddled his legs to work her magic on his back. He moaned a little as she pressed the heel of her hand into the muscle just underneath his shoulder blade.

"…Look, you were right about what I said. I don't know what happened today, but whatever it was, and whatever I said… I'm sorry I upset you."

There was nothing but silence for a long time. Bulma was pretty certain Vegeta had fallen asleep, and was just about to quit working his muscles to lay back down and catch some sleep of her own when the Prince finally spoke.

"Your son was killed in action today."

Bulma's eyes and mouth widened in shock, and she stopped moving her hands. "Oh my god, Trunks! What happened?"

Vegeta scowled again, already regretting saying anything about it. He should've just kept his mouth shut—now the woman would be on a relentless tirade, barraging him with questions, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He decided to offer just enough information that would hopefully pacify her. "Cell slaughtered him. Lethal ki blast to the chest."

After a moment, Bulma resumed massaging his back, now working lower, just above his tail stub. There was a sharp intake of breath from the Prince when she unknowingly pressed into one of his bruises. "Sorry," she replied quickly, moving her hands. "…That's why you're so exhausted," she realized with dawning clarity. "Cell killed Trunks, and you stepped in, didn't you?"

Vegeta gave no response. Bulma smiled to herself: if she knew the Saiyan as well as she thought she did, his "stepping in" was an understatement; he had completely lost it, firing energy blasts right and left until his exhaustion overwhelmed him. That's what the fighters had said would always happen when the Prince lost his temper, when he was desperate to recover from inevitable defeat. But those were all fights that concerned him and him alone. Never, to her knowledge, had he ever reacted that way because of someone else. _Well, isn't that something_, she thought.

By now, she could see Vegeta's back rising and falling with his deep breathing; his consciousness had finally given out on him. She leaned down to kiss his shoulder blade before climbing off of him, and she settled herself on her right side, facing him. No, he was nowhere near perfect, and a complete pain in the ass who would never fully understand her (or she him), but he was _her_ pain in the ass, and a pain in the ass that, underneath all that exterior of feigned indifference, cared much more than he ever dared to admit. Bulma closed her eyes, yawning as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. With enough time and patience, their understanding of one another would only grow. Maybe, just maybe, they could get to that point of true love that she had so often read about in her novels—a couple that understood one another so well, it was as if parts of their souls dwelled in each other's bodies.

"Goodnight, Vegeta," she mumbled, sighing as she yielded to her own slumber.


	2. My Heart's a Tart Your Body's Rent

The warm sunlight shining in his eyes and face was what finally roused Vegeta from sleep. He squinted his eyes, not even bothering to open them as he drew in a deep breath. As he wetted his lips and became aware of the foul morning taste in his mouth, he trailed his left hand down to scratch his lower stomach.

And that's when he noticed something was off.

As he was satisfying the itch, he became aware that his usual trail of hair from his navel was not present. To add to that anomaly, the feel of the skin was different, too. Instead of the firm ripples his muscles produced, it was soft and fleshy. And to top it off, his fingernails were raking against the skin much easier than what he was accustomed to. The Prince frowned in confusion, eyes still squinted shut from the sun. Why was the sun shining in his face, anyway?

He opened his eyes, already beginning to look down at his stomach. The image blurred and focused, but once it did, Vegeta was even more confused. Instead of his tanned, scarred skin, he was staring at a pale, slender, hairless stomach. Distinctly feminine. As if he couldn't determine that on his own, his line of vision also accounted for an ample pair of breasts beneath a black camisole and a pair of dainty, strawberry-print cotton panties. Bulma's panties. _What the fuck…?_

He heard a sigh and felt movement as the bed shifted, and the Prince looked next to him for the source. Vegeta's eyes widened, and he was suddenly unable to breathe. There, next to him, was another bare body with distinct muscle tone and dark, spiky hair. The face had his own angular features and dark eyebrows—it was an _exact_ copy of himself. He looked down at himself again, then around the room, and finally, back to his mirror image, trying to put the pieces together. Yes, he was still in his room, and yes, that appeared to be his body, which meant—

With a shaking hand, he slowly reached up to feel his hair. It was incredibly soft, and hung down near his face. He plucked a hair from his scalp, not wanting to believe what his panicking mind was telling him. He brought the hand to his face, and in that pale, tiny, perfectly-manicured hand was a light blue follicle. His panic kicked in full-gear now, and his breathing instantly became more rapid.

Next to him, the body—his body—stirred again, yawning, rubbing his eyes to become more fully awake. "Vegeta, what time—"

The body stopped as his eyelids opened and his vision focused. Slowly, the realization of what he must have been seeing spread across his face, and the two simply stared at one another, wide-eyed and breathless.

Then, the Saiyan imposter, despite the body's rough, harsh voice, let out the most emasculating scream of which it was physically capable.

The harsh noise finally prompted Vegeta to scramble out of the bed and away from its source. "Dammit, stop shrieking! What's the matter with you?" The Prince winced; that nagging, harpy-like voice that tested his patience like no other was now his own.

"I— you— you're me!" The pseudo-Vegeta sputtered, eyes wide, running his hands through his spiky hair. He looked like he was about to lose it completely.

"…Bulma?"

The fake Prince—Bulma—shook her head in disbelief, looking at the woman before her. At the same moment, she seemed to realize the texture of the hair she was gripping in her hands and looked down at herself. "Oh my god! What the hell happened to me?!" She turned to look back at Vegeta. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?! GIVE ME MY BODY BACK RIGHT NOW!" In true Bulma-like fashion, she reached for his pale, feminine shoulders, and began shaking him violently.

Vegeta was taken aback by just how much this simple gesture hurt him. He grimaced, taking in a sharp breath before struggling to get free. "You idiot woman, are you insane?! Let go of me at once!" After a few moments, it appeared that his words finally allowed some sense to come back to Bulma, and he watched as the hysteria across his own features was replaced with confusion.

"…Vegeta?"

"Who else would it be?" he sneered, rolling his eyes as if she were stupid. "Obviously. If you're missing your body and are instead inhabiting mine, wouldn't the logical conclusion be that I would be in yours?" He looked down at his pale shoulders and could tell that bruises were already starting to form. _Goddamned woman. No one that insane should have that much physical power at their fingertips._

Bulma didn't seem to have noticed. "Don't be such a smartass," she snapped. He smirked at her response. There was nothing more satisfying to him than getting under her skin like he was now. _Well, now you've done that in the truest sense of the word, haven't you? _ a voice in his head countered nastily. The Prince glowered before turning away.

Bulma had sat back down on the bed, running her hand through her dark hair as she struggled to keep it together. "…How did this even happen? I don't understand… Vegeta, what are we going to do? Trunks is leaving in a couple of hours. Oh god!"

Vegeta turned back to face her. "Woman, calm down. I don't know what the hell is going on any more than you do, but you shrieking like a damned banshee isn't going to help a thing." He walked over to sit on the bed next to her. "We will get through the boy's departure first. We will simply have to act as one another until we figure out how to rectify the situation."

Bulma was still staring off into space—of course, it was exactly like her to ask a question and not even pay attention long enough to hear the answer. Vegeta sighed in annoyance before getting up and pacing back and forth.

Bulma drummed her fingers on her chin. "…Maybe we could tell Piccolo… maybe he could—"

"_Absolutely not._"

"…But why? If he can help…"

"I said no!" the Prince snapped, crossing his arms. "What could he possibly do? We won't be able to use the Dragon Balls again for another year. We don't need his—_anyone's_—help. We will figure this out on our own."

Bulma's eyes widened in horror. "Oh god, a year?! You think we'll be stuck like this for a year?!"

"Will you stop shrieking? You're giving me a headache!"

"…do you?"

Vegeta sighed, rubbing his temple. "I don't know."

"Then why not ask Piccolo? I mean really, as former Guardian—"

"For the _last time, _we are not asking that imbecile of a Namekian for anything!"

Despite her high level of stress, after a moment, a smirk danced its way across Bulma's lips. "What's the matter, Prince Vegeta? Scared someone else will find out you're a woman?"

The Prince opened his mouth in shock, blushing. "Ridiculous wench," he snapped. "Me? Scared? I fear nothing. I am the Prince of All—"

"Egos, yeah yeah, I know. I've heard the spiel," Bulma interrupted, trying to diffuse him before he gained too much momentum. "Whatever. _I _won't tell anyone, but I doubt it'll be long before they figure it out anyway."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bulma chuckled. "Vegeta, it will be no problem to pretend to be your Royal Grouchiness, but your personality sticks out like a sore thumb. You really think you can pretend to be my bubbly, wonderful self?" She raised her eyebrows at him as she challenged him, her tone smug.

The Prince gritted his teeth. "Woman, I have participated in espionage tactics since before you were even able to count—"

"Yes, and I'm sure many of those missions included working on extreme algorithms, changing diapers, cooking dinner, playing with children, all while having a huge smile on your face…"

Vegeta scowled; the woman, unfortunately, had a point. He'd never portrayed anything remotely close to a maternal role before, and even if he had, the woman's insanity belonged to an entire league all by itself; it would be impossible to replicate. _Damn her. Damn her to the pits of hell._

"…We will just have to make as little contact with people as possible," he finally ground out.

"Yes, being the president of the most prestigious company in the world, I'm sure that will work beautifully. Good luck with that."

Bulma watched as the heat flooded to his cheeks. "Woman, I swear… if you—"

"Okay, okay. We will cross that bridge when we get to it," she said soothingly. "Let's get dressed so we can say goodbye to Trunks. Go pick out something of mine to wear."

"Hn." The Prince crossed his arms before walking huffily over to the closet. He threw the door open and walked inside. There was silence for a few moments before Bulma heard him call out from inside. "Woman, the amount of apparel you own is completely absurd. No one needs this many blouses or shoes."

"What can I say? I like to have a little variety," she replied with a smile. Then, the smile turned downright devious. "Besides, you seem to be pretty appreciative of what I wear later on."

Vegeta's head appeared from behind the closet door, fixing her with a fierce glare, before returning to the abyss of clothes and accessories. "This is ridiculous…" he mumbled. He kept grumbling unintelligibly, shifting the hangers as he searched for something acceptable to wear. A few moments later, he emerged. "What about this?"

"Vegeta… that's the dress I only wear to funerals."

Vegeta gritted his teeth in frustration, obviously slightly embarrassed, and threw the dress onto the bed. "How in the hell am I supposed to find something acceptable to wear in all of this garbage?" he snapped. "It all shows too much skin, or is some ridiculous color, or—"

"Geez, will you just calm down?" Bulma huffed, getting up from the bed. She walked over to the closet to join him. "Here, move. I will find you something." She rummaged for a couple of seconds before handing him a bra, a pair of panties, a dark pair of blue jeans, a three-quarter length baby blue button-down shirt, a pair of socks, and some tennis shoes. "There. Nothing overly 'girly.' Now go shower and get dressed so we can meet him. We're going to be late."

The Prince begrudgingly accepted the garments from her, and Bulma watched as he disappeared into their adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Then she walked to the closet, grabbed a navy blue polo and pair of khakis for herself, and headed to Vegeta's old bedroom to get a shower of her own.

The shower ran forgotten in the background, steaming up the bathroom and the mirror, as Vegeta stared at his reflection. He had stripped down completely naked, and he scrutinized the slender, pale-skinned body he now inhabited. He'd seen her body like this countless times before, but now, it seemed something so completely foreign to him. Before, it was a body definitely worthy of his appreciation—there was no doubt of the woman's obvious sexual appeal. He doubted he would've paid much attention to her initially if it wasn't. Of course, the great sex between them couldn't be attributed only to her body—that woman had a combative spirit that made the Prince admire her as much as it made him want to strangle her. But still, her magnificent body was a definite bonus in the bedroom…

…But now, Vegeta wasn't so appreciative of that body now that he had to wear it. Knowing how attractive said body really was, Vegeta saw nothing but problems. How many ignorant cretins was he going to have to kill simply for staring at him? How was he going to downplay all of the curves this woman showed so proudly just so people would leave him alone? And that was just the visual aspect of inhabiting this body. Vegeta watched his reflection as he ran a hand over the purple fingerprints on his arm. Obviously, now that he was in Bulma's body, he wouldn't have any of his strength—he would be forced to live life as a weakling. And while the Prince prided himself on his intelligence, the truth was that he possessed nowhere near the capacity of scientific knowledge the woman did. So he couldn't fight, and he couldn't work at _her _job… What the hell was he supposed to do with himself now?

He looked at the bruises again, scowling. Even if the woman could manage to portray his demeanor perfectly (which he doubted possible), she wasn't even aware of how to control the strength she now had. She would give them away without even intending to. And then everyone would know that the Prince of All Saiyans had to live his life as a human woman for a period of time. How disgraceful.

The Prince sighed, walking over and climbing into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. Why did these things always seem to happen to him?

Bulma stepped into the shower and sighed as the hot water hit her back. She closed her eyes and stuck her head under the showerhead, letting the water drench the dark hair and send it cascading to her shoulders. After a moment of enjoying the soothing heat, she reached for the shampoo, squirting some of it into her palm. Before she even brought it to her face, the smell hit her like a sledgehammer—it was almost completely overpowering. _But I remember buying him this soap,_ she thought to herself. _He specifically asked for something that wasn't so 'repugnant.' I bought this because it didn't really have much of a smell at all…_

She brought it to her hair and lathered anyway, trying to ignore it. The heiress rinsed, opening her eyes afterward, and when she did, she also noticed that she could see the grains in the shower tile with exquisite detail. Finally, the smell made sense as she caught on. _I never realized his senses were so enhanced…! I guess it makes sense, being a Saiyan fighter and all. But wow, this is just amazing! I could count every grain in this tile…why didn't I notice this earlier?_

_Maybe because you were a little busy freaking out at the situation, _her brain countered.

Bulma finished showering and stepped out, drying herself off. As she was running the towel through her hair, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and smirked devilishly, admiring the view. _Well,_ she supposed, _at least if I had to body swap again, it was with my handsome Prince this time, and not some icky, disgusting frog._

She stood there for a moment longer, staring at her reflection, running her hand along the muscles of her stomach. She lost herself completely for a few moments in her fantasies, remembering her need for this body, _his_ body, remembering how wonderful he looked above her, how his muscles twitched and jerked…

An urgent thought finally broke through her lust-clouded brain, reminding her where she needed to be. She looked at herself again in the mirror, noticing the flush to her cheeks and…well… _other_ visibly noticeable evidence of her thoughts. _Ugh! Dammit, Bulma, look what you've done now! My first hard-on, and I can't even enjoy it! There's no way I can… What am I going to do now?_ She had to meet her son in less than two hours, and she still had to go take care of the baby and meet up with Vegeta first, too. _Okay, focus, _she commanded herself. She forced the thoughts away and instead concentrated on every non-sexual thing she could think of. _Folding laundry… cooking dinner… the space-time continuum… _She chanted things over and over in her mind, and as her desire dissipated, she headed back into the adjoining bedroom to get dressed. Once she checked herself and was sure she was in the clear, Bulma walked back out of the abandoned room to get her son ready before meeting Vegeta in their bedroom.

This was obviously the most malevolent contraption ever devised. A sinister enigma concocted from the mind of some tyrannical sadist. A contraption that, at its very core, was created under the false promise of security and "providing support," but in reality, offered nothing but suppression when its user actually conquered its labyrinth of straps, wires, and hooks; and when said user was unsuccessful, it provided nothing but immense shame when defeated by it.

"Vegeta, are you almost ready? We need to be there in ten minutes!"

The Prince struggled once again to latch the clasps behind his back. Dammit. This could not be _that_ difficult. The woman somehow managed to put the damned thing on all by herself on a daily basis with almost no effort on her part. If _she_ could do it, then he damn well could, too. He pushed his hands still further together so that his fingers met, striving to make the blasted hook meet the tiny loop. If only there weren't so many of them…

"Oh my god, what is taking you so long?"

Vegeta snarled when her voice broke his concentration and caused him to miss yet again. "Woman, we will leave whenever I am ready, and not until then! I have wasted _countless_ hours waiting on you to finish your vanity sessions, so you have no right to complain. Now will you shut up and leave me alone?!" The Prince struggled with the latches once again, and felt the hook graze over the eye; there, he had it! He let the band go, only realize too late that he, in fact, didn't have it after all, and to have the band snap him on the back. "Ugh… Dammit…!"

Bulma was standing just on the other side of the door, staring at it impatiently, when she heard him curse under his breath from inside. She'd left Trunks playing in his playpen downstairs, but she knew that wouldn't keep him entertained for long. "Vegeta, look, can I just come in, please? It's _really _not like you have anything I haven't seen before…" When she got no response, she tentatively shifted the door handle and, finding it unlocked, entered. Vegeta was standing with his back to the mirror, looking over his left shoulder and trying valiantly to clasp the hooks and eyes on the bra she had given him. He was a total mess; the straps were twisted, his bust wasn't properly adjusted in the cups, and the look of absolute frustration on his face actually had her feeling a little sorry for him, and it kept her from laughing at the otherwise comical situation. She then also noticed the bruises on his arms. "Vegeta! Where the hell did those bruises come from?"

Vegeta grit his teeth. "Woman, get the fuck out. Now."

Bulma scowled, crossing her arms. "I said, what happened?"

His eyes widened at her sheer audacity, and they shifted to look at her in the mirror. "I said get out! Now!"

"Not until you tell me what happened!"

"They came from you! This morning, when you shook me during your moment of sheer insanity! Now LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"

Bulma's face changed instantly—she went from being cross to apologetic in nanoseconds. "…I did that?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Woman, it's really not a big deal. I'm fine. Now for the love of all that is sacred, get out of this bathroom, or I swear…"

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize…" Bulma walked over to him and grazed the bruises with her fingertips. The small gesture seemed to calm him; he wasn't shouting at her to leave anymore, but he didn't look pleased, either.

Vegeta took a deep breath. "I'm fine. This is nothing," he said more calmly this time, looking her dead in the eye. They stared at each other for a few moments before Bulma finally motioned for him to move.

"Here. Turn your back to me," she asserted, not giving him a moment to become agitated at her proximity.

T he Prince glared at her, but when she stood her ground, he begrudgingly turned away from her and allowed her to straighten the straps and fasten the clasps. He watched her face in the mirror as she did. "Okay, it's fastened. Now, let me just… adjust you a little bit here," she said, stepping closer and pressing her torso against him so she could reach around him. The contact of his body on hers sent an electric shock through her—oh God, that felt _amazing. _Bulma slid her hands underneath the bra cups slowly, reveling in the feel of his soft skin. She inhaled deeply as the scent of his skin consumed her senses, and suddenly felt it hard to breathe—she began exhaling heavily into Vegeta's ear. He visibly shuddered when she did. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted each breast into the cup, her hands lingering there much longer than necessary before they glided down to rest on his hips, pulling him against her.

" Woman, what the fuck are you doing?" he said shakily.

"What? Oh…" she swallowed heavily, shaking her head. "I… um…"

Vegeta took a breath to steady his nerves, then turned around to face her, giving her a steady glare. "Let me make this very clear. We are _not_ copulating while in one another's bodies, is that understood? It's _not_ happening."

Bulma dropped her hands and blinked rapidly, trying to rid her clouded mind of the intense feelings of lust. "Look, believe it or not, I really don't know what came over me," she said, slightly baffled. "I really just came in to help you, and then… God, it's _my _body! What the hell is wrong with me? I feel so freaking narcissistic right now…"

Vegeta inwardly groaned—he knew exactly what it was. He'd worked to keep himself in check his entire life, and he'd become almost flawless at it (well, until _she_ came around, that is—the Prince's jaw tightened in frustration at the thought); but the woman would certainly have no clue how to handle it. But did he really want to tell her? Vegeta sighed. If he didn't, then she wouldn't know… she wouldn't be able to attempt to practice restraint, and if she didn't, she'd give them away in no time.

He took a deep breath. "You're not narcissistic," he said.

"Vegeta, you just saw me. I started groping _myself,_" she said dryly.

" Will you shut up and listen to me?" he snapped. "You're not—at least not in this case. It's in your blood. You have the blood of a Saiyan to deal with now," he explained. When she stood quietly and simply watched for him to explain, he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Woman, are you really that airheaded? I'm a pure-blooded Saiyan Elite. The prince of a Saiyan race. A warrior that feeds on adrenaline in all its forms. Whether I still possess my tail or not, the animalistic drive of the Oozaru in me is still there—the insatiable hunger, the need to fight, the need to rip things apart…and the need to fuck. All the time. Every minute. And that body is hardwired to seek out any way to satisfy those needs. It will pursue any attractive female it can find to copulate with… believe me, I know." Bulma simply looked at him, and Vegeta felt a tinge of blush rising to his cheeks—what sadist would have him explain every physical urge of his body to this woman? It was all like being in some horrible dream.

"…Oh," was all she said after a moment.

The Prince's blush only grew from her unusual lack of commentary. "Yes. Fantastic. Well, now that you've been enlightened, I will remind you again: we are _not_ having sex while we're like this," he snapped.

"…Right, definitely not," she agreed. "It would be more than weird."

"Definitely."

"Absolutely."

"Good."

"Great."

They both stared at one another for a few moments. "…Do you not have a son that's leaving today? Or are we going to continue standing here discussing my body's sexual urges?" Vegeta sneered.

Bulma jumped at the reminder, and backed into the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, right! We definitely need to get going. Do you need anything else?"

Vegeta ran his tongue along his teeth in agitation. "No."

She looked him over once more—luckily, her eye makeup had miraculously stayed intact from the night before—however the hell that had happened. She knew Vegeta wouldn't be able to do it himself, and he damn sure wouldn't let her help him now, and it needed to be there so people wouldn't notice. "Alright then. Put your shirt on and meet me downstairs so we can leave." She walked out of the room, and Vegeta could faintly hear her steps as she descended the stairs. The sound dissipated much too quickly; her hearing really _was_ terrible. No wonder he was able to sneak up on her all the time.

The Prince sighed, pulling the light-blue shirt onto his shoulders and buttoning it. There was no way this was going to work—as soon as someone saw them, they would know something was off. How were they going to keep this charade up for an entire year? It hadn't even been three hours, and the woman was already coming on to him. And to top off what already ranked as one of the worst days of his life, the woman now knew about all of his urges and instincts. Something he had worked his entire life to conceal… to show that he and he alone controlled himself… and she now knew his weaknesses. His ability to always be the brunt of cosmic irony never ceased to amaze him. Would he _ever_ have any dignity?

Vegeta checked himself in the mirror one more time, and once he was certain everything appeared fine on the surface, went out to join Bulma.


	3. You, Me and Alllllll of the People

Bulma was already waiting by the door with baby Trunks in his car seat when Vegeta descended the stairs. Thankfully, her parents had already left, so they didn't see "Vegeta" taking care of the baby. _Because heaven forbid _that _actually happen, _she thought sourly. The heiress twirled her keys in her hand, watching him as he walked begrudgingly over to her. "Ready?" she asked.

The Prince simply nodded, and Bulma opened the door and walked outside, Vegeta following behind. Vegeta groaned when he saw that they were headed toward the aircraft in the driveway.

"Is it absolutely necessary we take this substandard piece of trash?"

"Hey! That's my baby you're talking about—I built her myself," Bulma huffed, offended. "And she's not a 'substandard piece of trash,' Vegeta. She's the fastest personal vehicle on the planet. Just because she can't move at Super Saiyan speed doesn't qualify her as 'trash.' Besides, how are you going to get there? You can't fly anymore, remember?"

"Yes, well, if your body wasn't so lethargic and possessed so little energy, I _would_ fly," he sneered. "Honestly, woman, it's amazing you can still stand."

Bulma only smirked. "That's funny; I remember you saying the same thing the other night, but you weren't complaining about my energy then."

Vegeta's face turned scarlet. "Just get in the damned car," he said, walking away from her.

Bulma chuckled, pulling open the driver's door. She fastened Trunks and his car seat securely into place before climbing in herself and starting the engine. She looked over as she buckled her seatbelt, and saw Vegeta had already settled in and buckled his, crossing his arms and looking away. She shook her head, shifted the engine into gear and took off, heading toward the Son house. It wasn't a place she was really looking forward to visiting—with Goku gone, it was sure to be a pretty somber atmosphere, but Trunks had insisted on spending the rest of his time with Gohan when he'd left Capsule Corp yesterday, so she told him she would put the Time Machine in its capsule and bring it to him there. Everyone would meet at the Son house to see him off.

After a few long moments of slightly uncomfortable silence (save for Trunks' unintelligible jabbering in the back), Bulma decided to speak. "Vegeta… we're going to have to park far enough away that they can't see us get out of the car. They know you can't drive, so they'll ask questions if they do."

"Hmph. I could easily drive this thing if I wanted to," he said, still not looking at her. "I simply find it a waste of my time to do so, so I refuse."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Whatever. They know you _don't _drive, so we're going to have to walk. And you're going to have to walk in with Trunks. It will look strange if you don't."

"Whatever."

"Geez, such a sourpuss," she grumbled. "Are you really that mad about what I said?"

Vegeta finally looked away from the window, turning to her. "No. This entire situation is going to be a nightmare. In case you've forgotten, we are _in each other's bodies_, and we're about to be swarmed with idiots who, if any of them has a brain, will know something is off the moment they spot us."

"Ugh, don't be so negative!" Bulma coaxed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Look. We've lived with each other for a few years now. How hard could it be?"

"You've forgotten that I was in space for the past year."

"So?" she said. "You still lived with me before that. I mean, come on. We've shared the same bed. I'd say we know one another pretty well," she added with a wink.

"You don't have to know someone well to fuck them," he said flatly.

Bulma wrinkled her nose. "And see? That right there. You're going to have to watch your language—_I_ don't use crude language like that."

"Oh yes, you are the epitome of modesty and virtue," he sneered.

Bulma glared at him; he chuckled before turning to look back out the window.

"We can do this," the heiress said after a moment; though in truth, she wasn't quite sure if she was trying to convince Vegeta or herself. "No one will even know the difference—it will be fine." Bulma decelerated on the gears, the Son house coming into view. She saw that everyone was gathered around back in the clearing, so she maneuvered to park up front; with any luck, they could get out of the vehicle unnoticed, and wouldn't have to walk that far after all.

The aircraft touched down on the grass, and after turning off the ignition, Bulma climbed out. Vegeta had already done the same. "Here, Vegeta. Come over here and unbuckle Trunks' car seat so you can carry him in," she said quietly. The Prince obliged, walking around the carrier before sticking his head in through the driver's side door. "The seatbelt threads through the seat; there's a buckle on the other side," she instructed. Vegeta reached over the infant to the buckle on the other side, his nose twitching in disgust at the baby's odor—he smelled of milk and those ridiculous baby fragrances, oils, and lotions the woman insisted on putting on the brat. Thank Kami he didn't have to endure this smell through his _own _senses. The Prince found the buckle relatively easily and pressed the button to unlatch it; threading the belt through the seat, however, was a completely different story.

"Idiotic piece of trash…" he grumbled under his breath, fighting with the belt.

"Here, move and I'll get it undone before someone sees us," Bulma said, trying to push Vegeta out of the way.

"I'll handle it myself; stop shoving me!" he said, pushing her away. Bulma rolled her eyes. _Men and their ridiculous need to do everything themselves._

If he had been in his own body, he would've just ripped the car seat from the car, belt and all. Seeing that he was in this poor excuse for a body, however, he would have to make other arrangements. After a few more moments of fighting, Vegeta finally freed the infant and his car seat from the belt, and pulled the contraption away to carry it. The Prince started off at a brisk pace toward the house before Bulma stopped him. "Here. This is the capsule for Trunks' Time Machine." She handed him the small device, and he stuck it in his pocket. Bulma adjusted the collar of his shirt nervously. "Just remember to call everyone by their names, okay? And be nice. Smile. And watch your language. Actually,—"

"Woman, stop mothering me and telling me what to do," Vegeta said, annoyed. "I have this under control. Concentrate on your own priorities." He set off once again toward the house. Bulma huffed, crossing her arms and frowning. Slowly, she followed him around back.

Despite Goku's absence, the first thing Bulma noticed was that everyone appeared to be in a pretty cheerful mood. Trunks, Gohan, and Piccolo were having a conversation to themselves, and her mother and father were sitting next to Krillin and 18 with everyone else at the picnic table. She shuddered when her eyes met 18's; Bulma had been informed of Krillin's wish, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about a used-to-be mass murderer attending this (and most likely future) social events. _You're being a hypocrite_, she thought to herself. Bulma sighed; but Vegeta was different, wasn't he? Okay, no. He wasn't. Once the technicalities were stripped away, her Saiyan Prince had a fairly similar past to the Android in front of her. How could she not give her a chance, too?

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw Vegeta beeline for her parents. She watched him for a moment, highly impressed. She could hear her mother gush from where she stood: "_There's_ my perfect little grandson! Do you want to come sit with Nana so mommy can go visit?" Bulma snorted; the idea of seeing and hearing Vegeta called "mommy" was priceless.

The Prince's disillusionment matched Bulma's enthusiasm—he studied the blonde woman's features as she looked up at him quizzically. Why did humans insist on communicating to other adult humans by speaking to the children in their possession? It was utterly absurd.

"Sure," he managed, trying his best to go along with the game and keep suspicion away from him. For added effect, he tried smiling.

"Bulma, are you okay, dear? Is something wrong?"

_Dammit to hell._

"No, I'm fine. I—"

"Oh, I bet you're upset at having to see Trunks go home, huh? It's okay, honey. I know it's hard. But he's going back home to where he belongs—and just think, in eighteen years or so, you'll have this little guy to send off into the world! It's never easy, but it _is_ bearable."

"And I re-checked the Time Machine myself last night after you went to bed. Everything should be ready to go," Bulma's father added.

"…Right. I'm just going to go talk to him, then," Vegeta ventured, not knowing what else to say and deciding to mimic the woman's need to announce her every move. He headed off Trunks' direction. When the boy saw him approaching, he stopped midsentence with whatever he was saying and turned away from Gohan and Piccolo to face him. The other two backed away out of respect for privacy as he approached. Piccolo gave Vegeta a questioning look, but otherwise said nothing.

"Hey, mom," Trunks greeted.

"…Hey," the Prince offered awkwardly, trying his best to get into the woman's mindset. "Here is your Time Machine; it's in the capsule, as requested."

Trunks tilted his head, examining his "mother." "Mom, are you alright? You look like you're barely holding it together or something."

Vegeta's eye twitched subtly from irritation. "I'm fine; why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Trunks' expression softened, and he stepped closer to Vegeta, inches from him now. "It's okay, mom," he said softly. "You have to be strong for everybody else, but you don't have to fake it for me." He then wrapped Vegeta in a warm hug.

Immediately, the Prince's eyes widened in disgust, and he had to fight every urge in his body to throw the boy off of him. Here they were, two grown Saiyan males, embracing. _In public display._ How disgraceful. Reluctantly, in order to keep the charade intact, he did the only thing he knew the woman would do; he returned the gesture.

"I'll be just fine. I have everything I need now to destroy the Androids back home; you'll see." Trunks ran his hand consolingly along Vegeta's back—the Prince suppressed a shudder.

"Yeah," was all he managed. Over the boy's shoulder, Vegeta caught sight of the woman sitting by herself with a plate of food in front of her that she was currently working on. It was obvious she was watching him, and she was visibly trying to suppress her laughter. Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to have a word with your _father_," he said, and pulled away from him, stalking off in Bulma's direction, leaving Trunks to look quizzically after her before turning to Gohan and Piccolo.

"Just what in the hell do you think is so funny?" he snapped as he approached her.

"Nothing," she said, laying her chicken leg on her plate as she tried to keep a straight face. "Your son wanted to comfort you, and you let him. How sweet."

"I did what I had to do in order to keep from arousing suspicion!" he said, being sure to keep his voice down. "Grown Saiyan males do _not_ embrace… It's…" Vegeta floundered, rubbing subconsciously at his torso as if something disgusting were on him.

"Unacceptable? It couldn't have been more obvious that you wanted to get away from him," she snickered. "You're going to have to lighten up a little more or people are going to notice."

"Hn. Easy for you to say. You don't actually have to _interact_ with these peons."

"Hey," she countered, a little more forcefully. "Those 'peons' are my friends and _our_ son. You'd do well to remember that, especially since you're supposed to _be _me and like them…"

Bulma stopped as she saw Chi Chi walking over towards them, and gestured with her eyes to Vegeta to indicate as such.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," she began. "Bulma, can I borrow you for a second? I see you haven't eaten yet—we'll get you some food and go talk."

Vegeta's eyes flickered over to Bulma's for the briefest of moments—he was about to be lured away by the harpy to his doom, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least there would be food. Maybe that would be an acceptable enough distraction where he wouldn't have to interact much. Dammit. Posing as the woman was so utterly exhausting.

"Sure," he said, and followed her to the buffet table she had prepared.

Chi Chi stood back and waited as Vegeta piled large quantities of food—chicken, salad, vegetables, anything he could get his hands on—onto his plate. She furrowed her eyebrows at "Bulma's" sudden change in eating habits, but said nothing. When he was finished, she led him over to a table away from everyone else.

Vegeta began devouring his food ravenously as soon as they were seated, not noticing as Chi Chi tilted her head in bewilderment at him. "Hungry?" she asked.

The Prince merely nodded, too focused on his meal. Chi Chi shifted awkwardly.

"…Are you pregnant?" she asked tentatively.

Vegeta's eyes about popped out of his skull, and he choked on his food. "_What?_"

"You heard me…" she said, still awkwardly but refusing to back down now. "Are you?"

"No! What in the hell would make you think something like that?" Had the female completely lost her mind? Him? _Pregnant? _Completely ridiculous. Then, slowly, the thought occurred to Vegeta that, given the circumstances, he theoretically _could_ get pregnant. The thought caused his breath to catch in his throat and the hairs to stand on the back of his neck. If the role reversal wasn't enough to deter him from sex with Bulma, then pregnancy certainly was. That woman wasn't coming near him. There was no way he was risking carrying a child—no way in hell. He didn't care if they were stuck this way forever; they would never copulate again.

"Well, your eating habits have changed since I saw you last, and you seem a little moody… and I saw the way you were talking to Vegeta earlier…" Chi Chi ventured delicately. "I'm sorry, Bulma, I didn't mean to offend you. I just figured since you and Vegeta already have Trunks, it wasn't a huge leap…and, you know, I've kind of got pregnancy on the brain already, anyway." Chi Chi wrung her hands together nervously.

Vegeta looked up to make contact with her. "What do you mean?"

"…I'm pregnant again, Bulma."

Vegeta took another breath, searching for what Bulma would respond with. This insane woman was carrying _another_ one of Kakarot's spawn? Wasn't one brat enough?

"…Congratulations," he said evenly.

Chi Chi tilted her head to the side again, studying him for a moment. Then, tears began to form in her eyes. "Oh, Bulma, what am I going to do? Sure, I was basically the only one who actually took care of Gohan when Goku was here, but that will be nothing like trying to raise two kids by myself. Two half-Saiyan kids. Gohan's hitting puberty…you can tell how moody and withdrawn he's getting. And now that Goku's gone, he won't speak to me. And this baby…this baby isn't even going to know his or her father. What am I going to do?"

Vegeta sat there awkwardly, trying to decide what to do. The harpy was crying, so his automatic response was to sneer in disgust and move as far away from her as possible. However, his cover would probably be blown if he pissed off Bulma's female companion when she was hurt, so he refrained. "Stop going into hysterics, woman," he snapped. "You will be fine. Are you a Saiyan's wife or not?"

Chi Chi sniffed a little before smiling a bit. "Yeah, I guess you're right. We are tough Saiyan women, aren't we? We don't need them around to take care of our babies and get the job done." With that, she got up from the table and walked over to give Vegeta a hug. Ugh—he was really getting his fill of embraces at this ridiculous event.

"Thank you, Bulma," she said quietly. "I needed that. I forgot that you struggled even more than I did when Vegeta left. You have to take care of Trunks all by yourself—at least Goku was supportive, even if he wasn't helpful. I don't know why you put up with Vegeta, but I'm sure you have your reasons." She squeezed Vegeta once more before letting go. "I need to get back to hosting," she said, and with another smile, she walked away.

Vegeta's brows furrowed as he mulled over the female's words in his mind. Is that really how Bulma felt? That he abandoned them? Yes, he supposed that's what he had done, and up until now, he didn't care. But somehow, hearing it from another's perspective… it unsettled him. And apparently, they thought his lack of attention in the boy's life was still not present, even though he was here. The Prince scowled when he realized that, deep down, he wanted that path to change—but what was he supposed to do? He hadn't the slightest idea how to care for a child. _Childcare_ was something one rarely sought to witness when purging a planet. Vegeta sighed, getting up and walking over to Bulma, who for some reason he saw was now standing next to Kakarot's short bald companion.

"…I don't know, Vegeta. I swore I could've felt him…" Krillin sighed. "I guess I just miss him, is all. Sorry I bothered you." Without another word, he walked away.

"What was that about?" Vegeta asked, coming up to her.

"I don't know," Bulma shrugged. "Krillin came over and asked if I could feel Goku's power level. Obviously I can't; I haven't been taught how to do that. He said he'd been noticing it since last night, which is ridiculous. Goku's gone; he saw it himself. I don't know what's going on with him."

"Seems like he's losing it now that the Golden Boy is gone."

"Don't be an ass," she scolded. "What happened with Chi Chi? What did she want to tell me?"

"…Kakarot's wife is pregnant again," Vegeta deadpanned.

"What?! How far along is she?! Oh God, please tell me you were sensitive about this…" Bulma began massaging her forehead with her fingertips.

Vegeta scowled. "I handled it just fine, woman, have a little faith. She started falling apart over the fact that Kakarot isn't here. I asked her if she was or wasn't the wife of a Saiyan, and that seemed to help. She… thanked you for your support and walked off."

"…Why do I get the impression there's something you're not telling me?" Bulma asked, raising an eyebrow.

"…It's nothing," the Prince said, turning away so Bulma couldn't see his face.

"Vegeta…" she pleaded softly.

Bulma was about to press him for more when she noticed everyone was getting up and gathering towards the clearing. Trunks had taken the Time Machine and released it from its capsule, and there it sat, gleaming and waiting in the sun for his command. Vegeta was already walking off in that direction to avoid her, so she decided to allow him to do so… for now. She got up and followed him and everyone else to where Trunks was waiting, giving farewells to everyone that approached. She watched as he made his rounds, shaking hands and whispering some form of goodbye to each of them. It wasn't until he was hugging Vegeta again next to her, assuring his "mother" that everything would be alright, that the thought finally occurred to her: her baby boy was leaving. He was going back home to fight those awful Androids, and he wasn't coming back. She would have no way of knowing if he was alright. Tears began to well in her eyes, and her throat became unbearably tight.

Trunks had stepped in front of his "father" now, and as soon as he saw the look in Bulma's eyes, he came to an abrupt halt. The half-Saiyan averted his eyes and cleared his throat, feeling as though he witnessed something he shouldn't. "Um… thank you, father, for everything. The training—I…"

Bulma's voice was shaky when she spoke. "Trunks, just promise me you'll be safe, alright?" By this point, the group was starting to stare: Vegeta had other emotions besides rage? Was he actually _crying_?

Vegeta noticed their attention was directed towards her as well, and growled in agitation. He stomped forcefully on Bulma's foot, prompting her to pull it together. Bulma flinched and fixed him with a steady glare. Vegeta's eyes strayed from hers and darted around the group, indicating their watchful eyes. Instantly, her demeanor changed, and she cleared her throat. "After all, the choice to end your life rests solely with me. I brought you into this world, so I decide if you leave it or not," she added gruffly. Vegeta rolled his eyes.

Trunks laughed half-heartedly. "Yeah, I guess so," he said. The young man was backing away now, waving as he walked backward. He stopped abruptly, however, when he felt that he'd backed into someone. Strange; there hadn't been anyone behind him before…

"Hey, Trunks. How's it goin'?"

Trunks turned around and, upon seeing who it was, stood with his mouth agape, just like most everyone around him now was. "G-Goku…?" he stammered.

The Saiyan just smiled that child-like smile of his, as if nothing in this moment was strange at all. "Sure! Who else would it be?" After a few moments of awkward silence and staring, however, he shifted uncomfortably and continued. "Um… why are you all staring at me like that?"

By that point, Krillin had been prompted out of his own stupor, and he rushed towards his best friend. "Goku!" he yelled in excitement, jumping on the Saiyan and smothering him with a hug.

"Hey, nice to see you, too, Krillin," he laughed, returning the gesture. "Huh. Why'd you get rid of all your hair again?"

Krillin pulled away from him and fixed him with a confused look. "Huh? What do you mean?"

By this point, Bulma had walked forward, Vegeta following close behind. "G—Kakarot," she barked, "I thought your decision was to stay in Other World to train. Why have you returned?"

Goku looked at her, confused. "I already did that, and then decided to stay after we wished everyone back." He looked at Vegeta (who had now come to stand beside them), his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them before settling on the Prince. "Where's Bra?"

Vegeta furrowed his eyebrows dangerously. "What are you talking about?"

_Really, Goku, what _are_ you talking about? _Bulma thought to herself. The cogs in her brain kept turning, processing her given information. Goku was confused why people looked different. Krillin had _always_ kept his hair cut off—the only way he'd let it grow was if he'd retired his training. He said he had already trained in Other World—had already made the decision to stay, even though he just went there, technically, yesterday. He made it sound like he'd been there for years. And finally, he was asking were "Bra" was. Bra was the name she'd had picked out for her baby girl since she was a teenager. There was only one explanation why he would know that and be asking for someone who didn't exist—this Goku _had_ to be from the future. But… why? What the hell was going on? First her and Vegeta switch bodies, then Goku shows up—

She stopped, realization finally dawning on her. The Time Machine. It wasn't such a leap—her Time Machine manipulated time and space, based on the Space-Time Continuum theories. It all made sense—somehow, in this whack-job of everything that had been messed up, she and Vegeta had swapped bodies (the space), and Goku had been pulled from the future (the time). Apparently, in this Goku's future, she had a daughter, and everyone else was alive, unlike in Trunks' timeline. And what was more, she and Vegeta must still be together, after all this time. Goku didn't look shocked to see them there together at all; he looked at _both_ of them and asked where "Bra" was—her little girl. They'd had a second child. Bulma grinned at the thought, barely able to contain herself.

Vegeta was still staring at Goku, his eyes held with contempt and barely restrained rage. "Kaka—_Goku_, if you are making some kind of comment about my clothing, I swear, I will personally remove your limbs. Slowly. Painfully."

Goku chuckled nervously. "What? Hey now, Bulma, just calm down. I was just asking—"

Bulma's eyes widened, panic overwhelming her and rushing to stop him. If he told Vegeta about Bra… she stepped in front of him, looking him directly in the eye. "Don't mind her," she said gruffly. "The damned woman's been like that all morning. You know how females are with their ridiculous menstrual cycles."

Goku let out a sigh of relief. Then, quietly, he said, "Sheesh. You're right about that! I don't even know what I said…"

"I'll explain later—now's not the time," she said quickly. She had to keep him quiet about the future—particularly Bra, or Vegeta would freak out. She didn't even know what was keeping him here with _one_ child; add another planned one to the agenda, and he would surely bolt to the nearest ship as if he were on fire. Not to mention, everyone else would start asking questions, too.

"Look," she said, "why don't you follow us over to Trunks' capsule? I think I saw something that needed repairs." There was _no_ way she was going to let him talk to everyone else until she'd informed him of what was going on.

"Hm, okay…" he said warily, following along behind her. She beckoned for Vegeta to follow. Once they had walked around to the control box, they stopped.

"Something you wanted to discuss, Vegeta?" Goku asked.

"I think G—Kakarot's from the future," Bulma said, looking from Goku to Vegeta.

Goku looked between the two of them. "Huh?"

"What makes you say that?" Vegeta asked.

Now it was Bulma's turn to tread lightly. "Just…things that he said. He mentioned Krillin's hair, which he's never had, and already being in Other World, and combine that with what else has happened…" she trailed off.

"Oh, really? What else has happened?" Goku asked with interest.

"Nevermind that," Vegeta snapped. Goku looked over at Bulma, catching her eye and nodding in a mutual-understanding fashion. "So what do you think is the cause?" Vegeta continued.

"I think it's the Time Machine," she said, bringing a hand to her chin in thought as she furrowed her eyebrows. "But it shouldn't have done anything unless it was powered on, and I turned off everything before I left last night…"

Goku's eyes widened excitedly. "Wow, Vegeta! I didn't know you worked on machines, too! When did you start doing that?"

Vegeta's eyes widened in a panic. That damned woman; she slipped up, and now Kakarot would know everything. Given that he couldn't keep his mouth shut, the whole planet would know what happened in a matter of minutes.

Bulma hesitated momentarily before falling back into character and scowling. "I've known how to repair machines since before you could count; it is simply not a Prince's duty to do so. I was merely checking the woman's work to make sure it was up to par."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Goku considered her words—Vegeta stood there, unmoving, with baited breath. He sighed in relief when Goku finally smiled slightly. "Whatever you say, Vegeta," he said.

Bulma turned back to the control box and opened it. Within moments, she found the problem—a wire connected to the motherboard had melted slightly. How had she not noticed this before she put it back? Granted, it had probably worsened once the Machine was on, but still… negligence like this could have cost her son his life.

By this point, Bulma's father had wandered up behind her. "Vegeta? Does there seem to be a problem?" he asked.

Bulma started at the close proximity of the volume and turned around. "Uh…yes," she said, clearing her throat. "Your daughter's incompetence has left this machine in need of repair," she ventured, trying to add force behind her words. She hesitated before adding, "fix it at once."

Dr Briefs took the board from her to inspect the damage. "Hm. Looks like the wire melted. Probably when I ran a test run late last night. It appeared everything worked just fine, but…" he trailed off as he pulled some spare wire and tools from his pocket. "Should be an easy enough fix; I don't know why you couldn't handle it, Bulma."

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably at being addressed. "Hn. He wouldn't let me! He says I only ever manage to break things; I think he just wanted you to handle it." Vegeta hoped the lie was sufficient enough—how else were they supposed to get the damned thing fixed in public? Goku smiled and shook his head at the falsity; Vegeta presumed it was as not to set off his "menstrual rage."

Dr. Briefs continued to work his magic, and in no time, he was carrying the motherboard back and popping it into its casing. "There; all fixed," he said, turning to them. "I'm going to tell Trunks what was going on."

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna say goodbye, too," Goku said, starting to walk away. Bulma grabbed his forearm and stopped him.

"Hey. You can't tell everyone you're from the future, alright? At least not yet," she said.

Goku frowned in confusion. "Why not?"

Vegeta turned to him and glared. "Because I have to figure out how to fix everything else before you can," he said flatly.

"Exactly," she continued. "Give her some time, and then it shouldn't be an issue."

"Hm. Alright then," Goku said. "If that's what you want."

"It is. And make sure you take good care of Chi Chi; she needs you right now, okay?" Bulma continued.

Vegeta shot her a glare; _what the HELL are you doing, woman? Shut up and stop acting like you care about everyone else! You're going to give us away!_

"…Okay," Goku said finally, choosing not to ask. "Well, I'm still going over here to wish Trunks off. You coming?" He looked between the two of them.

Bulma ushered him away. "We'll be there in a moment."

Once he was out of hearing range, Vegeta turned to her. "So, this whole fiasco was the result of your Time Machine. Brilliant."

"Hey, don't start with me right now, buddy! At least we know what _caused_ the problem and there aren't bigger things to worry about."

"Oh, you mean such as how we return to our own bodies?"

Bulma scowled. "Shut up," she said. "If you'd suck it up and swallow your damned pride, we could go to Piccolo, and we could—"

"How many times do I have to spell it out for you, woman? We are _not_ seeing the Namekian about this! He can't do anything without the dragon balls anyway!"

Bulma sighed, pressing her fingertips to her temples. "Let's just go see Trunks off, okay?" she said wearily, changing the subject. She walked away, Vegeta trailing along behind her.

Bulma watched as the future version of her son stepped into the newly-repaired Time Machine, waving farewell to his friends and family. Her mind was much clearer now, and she held it together much better as she watched him take to the sky. He would be fine. He could take care of himself. She had much bigger things to worry about right now.

For starters, how long was she going to be stuck in this body swap fiasco with Vegeta? Days? Weeks? Months? _Years?_ Especially since the jackass wouldn't let her talk to Piccolo. She sighed. This was going to be a very, very long predicament…


	4. Little Miss Can't Be Wrong

The next morning, Bulma yawned as she shifted over onto her side, pulling the blanket over her head. _Mmm…_ It was so warm, so peaceful…

"Woman."

_No. Vegeta, just go away. It's too damned early for this._ She pulled the blanket closer around her; there was a hand shaking her in response.

"Wake up."

Bulma exhaled sharply, pulling the blanket from her head and squinting her eyes open. "What, Vegeta?" she snapped.

The Prince only smirked. "Tired?" he asked with mock sympathy.

"Yes." Her eyes flickered over to her alarm clock—4:56 AM, it read. Bulma groaned. "And Trunks will be up in an hour and a half, so leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

"Well, if he's going to be up by then, we better get to the training. Hurry up."

Bulma glowered at him. "Are you insane? It's five o'clock in the morning! There's no way in hell I'm getting up to train. Not with all the other crap I have to do today."

"Oh, you are. I have a specific training regimen my body needs to follow; otherwise, I'll end up fat and weak like you."

Vegeta chuckled as a pillowcase came flying at his head. Good thing she wasn't looking, too, or it damn well might've taken his head off. "I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes," he said, and walked off.

Bulma groaned. She would kill just to lay here in bed until her son woke up, but she knew that if she did, she'd have an irate Saiyan to deal with, which meant she wouldn't get any sleep, anyway. She yawned, stretching her arms out, one over her head and the other under the pillow next to her. Damn him. She also knew that if she wasn't compliant in taking care of his body now, he would be that much more resistant in taking care of hers later. How could she expect him to if she didn't hold up her end of the bargain?

The heiress climbed out of bed and wondered to their closet, searching for a pair of shorts. She pulled a pair of loose-fitting black athletic ones and a pair of socks from the drawer, slipped them on, and started looking for his shoes. Once she tied the laces, she descended the stairs and headed to the back door where he was waiting for her. She would've found it funny to see him in his outfit, a training bra and pair of tight shorts, if she'd been more awake. Bulma yawned again, wiping at her eyes.

"Is this really necessary?" she tried as a final resort. "I mean, come on. You're in peak physical condition. A few days without training won't hurt anything."

Vegeta only smirked again. "Whining already? Well, we're off to a terrible start. Besides, who knows how long we'll be like this? I am not allowing your lethargic tendencies to incapacitate my body. Part of keeping this between us is continuing our normal routines as if nothing has changed. And that means you will spend a significant portion of your time maintaining my body's muscle mass through my training regimen." He opened the back door and started out. "Now, follow me."

Bulma trudged along behind him as he made his way toward the gravity chamber. Vegeta punched in the code, and as the door depressurized and opened, Bulma followed him inside. Her steps echoed around her in the cool air as she followed him to the control panel.

"Before we begin, we'll first warm up without the gravity simulation engaged. Since I don't know how much your pathetic little body can take, it will give me the opportunity to ensure you know how to do a sit-up properly, which I'm sure you've never done in your life."

"Hey! I've done plenty of sit-ups before. How else do you think I got my rockin' body back after I had Trunks?" Bulma said.

Vegeta snorted. "Didn't seem to have helped much."

Bulma gaped at him in utter shock, and was just about to retort at a volume that would make his ears bleed when she stopped. Slowly, she smiled.

"You really think I look that horrible?" she said slyly. It was almost innocent; Vegeta knew better.

The Prince raised his eyebrows and tilted his head away slightly, now on high alert. "Disgusting."

Bulma was slowly inching her way closer to him. "Because I'm looking at me, you, right now, and I'd say I look pretty amazing." God, her lust for him right now was tangible. She could bend him over the control panel right now and take him before he even knew what was happening…

"Narcissistic wench," he said, trying to back away. Bulma backed him against the control panel, placing her hands on either side of him.

"Oh, like you have any room to talk," she said, smirking. She reached down, slowly trailing her fingertips up the outside of his thigh. The Prince gazed into her eyes, looking hesitant. "Bulma…"

The heiress stepped closer, pressing herself to him, leaning in to kiss him. Her lips met his, and though he was hesitant at first, she soon felt him softening into it as their tongues explored one another's mouths. Bulma pushed him roughly against the panel, and he winced; she ran her fingertips down to the elastic band of his shorts, and was just slipping her hand underneath it when he broke the kiss, shoving her away.

"Dammit, I already told you—we are not having sex like this! What about that do you not understand?"

Bulma scowled at him, panting as she tried to catch her breath. Yes, he'd said that, but he hadn't exactly pushed her away when she started kissing him, did he?

"What's the big deal? It's not like we haven't had sex before, Vegeta! What are you so scared of?"

"Scared? I fear _nothing._ I simply find it disgraceful. Now, let's get to work before another asinine thought enters your mind," the Prince grumbled.

Bulma scowled as she mulled his words over, reading between the lines. She knew better than to believe for a minute that he wasn't afraid of something involving the two of them, but she wasn't really sure what it was. Was it the fact that he'd be the one penetrated for once? That probably had a lot to do with it, she reasoned; maybe he was afraid she'd hurt him. Maybe he was afraid of getting pregnant. _Well, that can be alleviated easily enough. Condoms and birth control pills do wonders for that when used together, _she reasoned. With that in mind, too, maybe she could work him down on the other aspect of it.

Vegeta had walked off and was beckoning for her to come over to him. "What are you doing? Get over here!" She did as she was told, and he continued. "First, we are going to warm up with 500 push-ups. Get into position."

Bulma balked at the thought. "Are you _insane_? 500 to _begin_ with? I'm not _you_, Vegeta; I don't have a death wish!"

"Woman, we've been over this. For now, you _are _me, and you will keep my regimen going or everyone will know that something is wrong! Now stop complaining and get to work. We have lots to accomplish before your son wakes up."

The heiress glowered at him as she lowered herself to the floor. "He's your son, too, Vegeta."

"Hn." Vegeta crossed his arms rather than searching for an appropriate reply. He watched as she began the routine; even for her, it was way too easy. He walked over, climbing onto her back and straddling her.

"What are you doing?!"

"Even for you, this is not difficult enough. Keep going."

Bulma huffed. "Can't you just turn up the gravity or something?"

"I told you; I don't want to die in this pathetic human body of yours. I want to be back in my own eventually, and I don't think yours can take it."

The heiress rolled her eyes. The nerve of him! Ugh. If she wasn't so adamant to acquiesce him so he would take care of her body and life in turn, she'd hit him. Granted, if she did that now, she'd most likely break his face…

All of the sudden, Bulma stopped. She could smell him, and it was overpowering. She could smell the scent of his sweat and skin—it was sweet, almost like strawberries. It was permeating her every thought, unwilling to let her concentrate. Is this what she smelled like to him?

Bulma shook her head, willing her now frantic heart rate to slow so she could focus. She was _not_ an animal, and she would not allow herself to behave like this. Vegeta didn't, and neither would she. _But you _are _an animal now, _the voice in her head countered nastily. _You have Oozaru blood, remember? And it's thirsting to be let out…_

Vegeta leaned in close, his voice dangerously low in her ear. "Not tired already, are you?" he sneered.

It was too much. He was too close. Bulma growled, throwing him off of her.

Vegeta scowled as he picked himself up from the attack he didn't see coming. "What the hell is your problem?" he snapped.

"You! Just get away from me!" she yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose as she punched in the code to the door. There was the refreshing sound of the door depressurizing, and the even more refreshing smell of fresh air as it flooded inside.

Vegeta watched as her features relaxed, and he understood. The lust had gotten to her, overpowered her. And with no foreseeable sign of release… before he could say anything about it, however, Bulma turned to him.

"Trunks is up. I can hear him crying inside."

With that, she walked inside, not even bothering to look back as Vegeta collected his thoughts.

After a few moments, Vegeta started as the sudden realization occurred to him: _Dammit! Her parents are home. And if they see "me" up there with the boy…_

Vegeta took off up the house after her, making sure to slow down and look as inconspicuous as possible once he reached the door. He opened it, and, after doing a quick surveillance of the first landing, deduced that her parents must be in the basement somewhere, and headed upstairs to the boy's room instead.

The brat was fussing as Bulma carefully laid him down on the changing table, but he quieted a little when Vegeta came into his sight. Bulma looked over her shoulder, following her son's line of vision, before beckoning Vegeta to come closer.

"Come here; you're going to have to learn to do this, or else everyone is going to be wondering why the Saiyan Prince is changing diapers."

Vegeta's nose crinkled in disgust. "The boy shits on himself. I am _not_ learning how to do that."

Bulma sighed exasperatedly, looking toward the ceiling. "God, Vegeta. Do you have to fight me on _everything?_ You know what I'm telling you is the truth! Either you learn to change your son's diaper and take care of him, or you deal with the fact that everyone knows we've swapped bodies. Up to you."

The Prince's fists clenched and unclenched as he processed her words. Damn her. She was right—if he didn't care for the kid, it would arouse suspicion. But he was the Prince of all Saiyans! The Prince of a warrior race stooping so low as to wipe defecation off of an infant…it was absolute insanity. Couldn't someone else do it?

…But he _appeared_ to be the boy's mother. If he didn't take care of it…

Trunks was beginning to fuss louder now at the notion of being ignored. Vegeta grit his teeth, stepping closer to Bulma. "Show me what to do."

Bulma turned her head slightly, so he couldn't see her smile. "Okay. First you're going to pull the tabs away like this," she said, demonstrating. "Grab his ankles with your hands so he doesn't stick his feet in his own mess, and you can use the diaper to wipe off the excess." Bulma didn't see as Vegeta visibly blanched; she turned to the baby instead. "Shoo-wee! Somebody had a stinky diaper, huh?" she cooed, smiling at him. Trunks stared back at her as if she had grown a second head, obviously perplexed that his "father" was talking to him that way.

"Now. You're going to take a baby wipe and clean him all over. Make sure you pull his skin back and clean in the crevices around his legs. I always wipe his front before cleaning his butt." Vegeta watched with determination, his face set like stone. "After you're done cleaning him up, grab a new diaper, unfold it like this—" she demonstrated— "and lift him up, placing it underneath him. Pull the front securely around him and fasten the Velcro strips. That's it! Simple enough, right?"

He gave no response, and she looked up to him. His face was still set, but she could make out the discomfort he was trying his best to hide. "Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. I'll hang around and watch you do it the first few times while my parents aren't around, so I can help you if you need it."

"Hn."

Bulma rolled her eyes as she picked up her little boy, who was now sucking on his thumb and looking between the two of them quizzically. He began whimpering, holding his hands out toward Vegeta, who took a step back. Bulma watched the Prince's face, trying to gauge his features.

"He wants you, Vegeta," she said softly, taking a step closer.

"He does not. He wants _you, _because he thinks that's who I am."

"…Does that really matter right now?" she asked quietly. Vegeta's indifferent exterior gave way minimally, showing the nervousness he was masking a little more. He glanced from Bulma to their son and back to her, looking uncertain. Slowly, Bulma pulled Trunks away from her and offered him to his father, who reached out hesitantly to take him. He held him awkwardly, and for the first time since Bulma had met him, Vegeta looked like a new, terrified father. _Well, he would, if he wasn't in my body,_ she reasoned.

Vegeta shifted him unskillfully, cradling him closer as he looked down at him, truly studying him for the first time. He and this woman…they had created this boy, together. The evidence was in every one of his features. Sure, he had the lavender hair and blue eyes that had certainly come from his mother's lineage, but there was no mistaking his skin color and facial features—they were an exact copy of his own. A half-Saiyan, just like Kakarott's spawn. But Kakarott's boy had had a tail—where…?

"Where is his tail?" Vegeta asked harshly, shifting Trunks and digging into his diaper for the source with one hand. It wasn't there.

Bulma froze for a moment, his question catching her off guard. "What? Tail…? Oh! He wasn't born with one, Vegeta. I don't know why—he just wasn't."

Huh. So even in that department, Kakarott had beaten him. The Prince shook his head. Would his humiliation ever end?

"Vegeta…I usually get him dressed and head down to make breakfast for everyone. Do you think you can manage that?" she asked tentatively.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "I've had to survive by myself long before your cooking, woman. It cannot be that difficult. I can clothe the boy and make breakfast. It will be fine."

She smiled at his assurance. "Okay, well, I'll come down and help—"

"You will not," he bit out; Bulma's face faltered. "Again, it will look suspicious. You will go back to the gravity chamber and continue training. If I can't manage something as simple as pancakes, then I deserve to be exposed."

Bulma smirked. "Whatever you say, Vegeta."

"And if I find out your giving my training anything less than your best, so help me, woman…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I've got it under control." She walked over to him on her way out and gave her Prince a quick peck on the lips; Vegeta frowned at the gesture. "Just try not to burn the kitchen down, okay?" she smiled.

"The only time I plan on burning it down is with you in it," he deadpanned.

"Oh, you know you love me," she teased, sticking her tongue out. With that, she walked back outside to continue her training.

_Hn. Love. A pathetic human emotion for pathetic human beings,_ Vegeta reasoned. It was just another petty attachment, certainly nothing he would ever allow himself to feel. The woman was completely absurd. Love her? He knew the comment was in jest, but regardless, he didn't want the damned woman to be getting any ideas about things she wanted him to feel but never would. At best, he felt a begrudging sense of obligation to protect her and the boy, and it was only because she was the mother that cared for that boy. He'd seen his future son killed right in front of him, and he'd be damned if that ever happened again. Not because he "loved" him—that was ridiculous. It was simply instinctual to protect the passing on of his DNA. But regardless, Vegeta couldn't shake the fact that his son's death had bothered him in a way that nothing else had. And he realized that, if he were honest with himself, he didn't want anything to happen to Bulma, either.

The Prince shook his head, wanting to be free of the thoughts that were now confusing him. That damned woman, making him think about things to the point that it made him insane. Vegeta scooped up his son, who was watching him quietly before smiling at the eye contact, and headed downstairs toward the kitchen.

Vegeta strode over to the high chair and plopped the boy down into it before examining all of the straps. _Hn. Ridiculous. He could break out of these with minimal effort._ The Prince rolled his eyes and secured the tray before heading over to the pantry. He grabbed the box of pancake mix off the shelf before striding over to the refrigerator, opening it and taking the milk. He'd watched the woman hundreds of times as she made these—it would not be that difficult to replicate her methods. He pulled a pan, mixing bowl, and spoon from the cabinets, taking the pan and setting it on the stove. Vegeta turned the knob, but nothing happened; no fire ignited. _Hn._ Without thinking, the Prince attempted to summon his ki at his index finger to light it himself, but it was to no avail. He gritted his teeth—had the woman never even _attempted _to focus her ki in all these years…? He turned the knob again, and this time, heard a clicking noise followed by the ignition of a flame. Vegeta smirked, then positioned the pan more precisely over the flame. He then poured the mix and milk into a bowl, stirring it with the spoon. It looked less consistent than when the woman made them, for some odd reason. No matter. He took the bowl and turned the entire mixture into the pan.

When Bunny walked into the kitchen half an hour later, she was greeted with the sight of her daughter looking significantly disheveled, scraping a half-burnt soupy mixture from a pan into the trash and cursing vehemently. Trunks was wailing in the corner, pounding his fists on the tray of his highchair.

"Bulma, dear, what's wrong?" the blonde asked worriedly, approaching Vegeta.

"This fucking pancake mix is terrible! It won't cook properly! The boy won't stop screaming, and I am starving. I've had it! I've had enough of this second-rate, mediocre shit!" he fumed.

Bunny sat stunned for a moment, looking from Vegeta into the trashcan filled with burnt pancake mix, before she smiled and chuckled, patting her "daughter" on the shoulder. "Oh my goodness, will you get a load of that temper! Vegeta is really beginning to rub off on you, dear."

The Prince snorted at that, glaring back at her. She had _no_ idea.

"I'll tell you what," she continued without missing a beat. "You look pretty stressed. How about I finish these pancakes and take care of Trunks? You go ahead and shower and get ready for the day, and they'll be hot and ready for you when you come back down. How does that sound?"

"Fine," Vegeta bit out, already exiting the kitchen and heading back upstairs.

"And there's some Midol in your medicine cabinet, sweetie!" Bulma's mother called out to him. Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

Vegeta turned into their bedroom and into the bathroom, heading over to the shower and turning the knobs. He stripped quickly and stepped into the hot water, sighing in relief as it dampened his hair and he lost himself in how it relaxed him.

He finished his shower and getting dressed about twenty minutes later, and trotted back downstairs to finish his breakfast. The Prince grabbed the plate of pancakes waiting for him and took a seat next to his son's highchair. Trunks sat mashing the pancake pieces between his hands, clearly amused and continuing to giggle as he made a mess. Vegeta rolled his eyes, picking up his fork and beginning to devour his breakfast.

Bunny turned around from the stove where she was finishing up her cleaning to look at Vegeta. She noticed her "daughter" hadn't put much effort into getting dressed; "she" was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and no makeup. However, her mother decided it best not to acknowledge that fact with the mood she was in. "Oh good, you're back!" she tried instead. She beamed for good measure. "Feel better?"

Vegeta gave a non-committal grunt.

"Good!" Well, I'm off to the store!" she said. "I need to stock up on more groceries for the week. That Vegeta sure does have an appetite! What a sweet boy!" she giggled; Vegeta grimaced at the comment. This woman was utterly insane. "I'll see you later, sweetie. You and Trunks have a good day!" Without another word, Bunny grabbed her keys and purse and walked out the door.

The two Saiyans sat in silence enjoying their breakfast, no sounds coming from them other than the chewing of food and, in Trunks' case, the smashing of pancakes on the tray before shoving them into his mouth. Vegeta was doing his best to ignore the toddler's disgusting eating habits. Eventually, however, the boy seemed to catch onto this; grinning maliciously, he took a clump of pancake-mush and hurled it at the Prince's face.

Vegeta's eyes widened as he jumped to his feet in outrage. "You insolent brat!" he cursed in fury, wiping at his face. "I'll—"

What consequences awaited his son would not be spoken, however, as the Prince was interrupted by a knock at the door. He halted, breathing heavily and turning his head in the direction of the noise before grumbling under his breath as he went to go answer it.

Vegeta jerked open the door and, upon seeing who it was, his scowl deepened—it was that scar-faced idiot. Wonderful. Today's events were already working _magnificently_ in his favor, he thought sourly.

"Hey, Bulma," Yamcha greeted with a shy smile. At the look on Vegeta's face, the smile instantly disappeared and was replaced with a wide-eyed look of caution. "Er, is this a bad time, or…?"

"Well it's certainly not a good time," Vegeta spat. Yamcha backed away quickly from the doorframe at his tone. "What do you want, weakling?" he snarled, giving the human a steady glare.

Yamcha scowled. "'Weakling'? Man, Bulma, been hanging around Vegeta too much, haven't you? You don't think any better of me than that after all we've been through?" There was a look of hurt underneath the obvious look of distaste on his face.

_Dammit, he's onto me, _Vegeta cursed inwardly. _I'm going to have to keep myself in check, or the little rodent will figure it out and broadcast it to everyone._

"No, uh, _Yamcha_, it's not that…" the Prince began in his best attempt at Bulma's apologetic nature he could muster. It felt sickening, having to appease this peon. He did his best to keep the grimace off his face before sighing, deciding to mimic the woman's absurd need to over share in lieu of an apology. "I'm having a rough day. What do you want?" he tried again, trying to keep his tone softer this time.

"I just wanted to see how you were…" Yamcha trailed off, shuffling his feet. Vegeta narrowed his eyebrows.

"You're lying. You didn't come all the way over here just to check on me; I can take care of myself. You're trying my patience. Now, _what do you want?_" The Prince clenched his fists; it was everything he could do not to slam the door in the idiot's face.

"…Ok. Well, um…" Yamcha began, faltering and wringing his hands together, stepping closer. "I just… I know that Vegeta came to stay with you after the Cell games ended. After being gone for so long before that." Yamcha sighed, mustering his courage and looking determinedly into Bulma's eyes. "It was almost two years, Bulma. He abandoned you—you and Trunks. What makes you think that he's not going to bail as soon as things get rough?"

Fury flashed in Vegeta's eyes as his honor was being attacked. This imbecile actually had the audacity to question his motives?!

"If you must know, Vegeta was training to ascend to levels you couldn't _possibly_ comprehend. As the Prince of all Saiyans, that is his duty. But you would know _nothing_ of that, would you, cretin?" Vegeta was gritting his teeth in effort to keep his rising temper from spiraling out of control.

"'Cretin'? Wow, okay. Um…yeah, maybe I'm not the Prince of all Jerks, and I can't go all Super Saiyan… but I understand my obligations to my family and those I care about."

"You dare to say that I don't?!" Vegeta snarled.

Yamcha gave him a quizzical look. "No… we're talking about Vegeta here, Bulma."

Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself. He paused for a moment before looking up to glare at Yamcha. "Well Vegeta also understand his obligations here. However, he can't protect us if he doesn't work to become stronger. I thought that would be obvious."

Yamcha opened his mouth to retort, but, having no words come forth, closed it again. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. "You're right; I'm sorry. I don't know what you see in the guy, but…" he trailed off, stepping even closer to Vegeta and caressing his upper arm. He trailed his fingertips to Vegeta's waist, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Vegeta's eyes widened in shock. "If things change… or you ever change your mind, I'm here, okay? I still love you; I always will."

The Saiyan grabbed Yamcha's wrist so harshly it would've snapped had he been in his own body. He threw his hand off of him and pushed him away as Bulma turned the corner, using a towel to dry off her hair. She jumped and abruptly looked up at the sound of Vegeta yelling.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get your hands off of me!" he roared.

Yamcha stumbled back, panicking and stuttering. "W-What? I just…" he looked from Vegeta to Bulma, the latter of which was now striding over, and upon seeing her, scowled deeply before turning back to Vegeta. "Whatever," he bit out. "Catch you later." He turned and quickly stormed off; Vegeta slammed the door behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Bulma asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she tossed her towel to the side.

Vegeta turned sharply to face her. "Yes, indeed. What _was_ that all about?" he snapped.

"What do you mean? I turned the corner and you were talking to Yamcha of all people. Then I saw you flip out. So maybe _you _should fill _me_ in."

"Are you still involved with that idiot?"

"What? No! Why would you even ask me that?" she asked, looking offended.

"That moron had the nerve to touch you—me—you—whatever. Looks to me as though you're still on more-than-friendly terms."

"Well, yeah, Yamcha _wants_ us to be more than that; he's never really gotten over our breakup, and it got worse when you came along. But I'm not involved with him anymore; I'm with you."

"Hn. That's right, woman; you're mine. And you better not forget it. And if that scar-faced idiot knows what's good for him—"

"Um, excuse me? I'm not YOURS, Vegeta." That wasn't what she'd meant at all. They were in this _together; _he didn't have ownership over her, and he needed to understand that. "I'm not property. I'm with who I choose to be with, not who I HAVE to be."

"No, you _are _mine. And he will keep away from you, or senzu beans will not help him recover from what I'll do to him." He was seething now.

Bulma grew increasingly agitated herself at his words. "Look, buddy, you're not going to tell me what I can and can't do; who I can and can't see—"

"Like hell I won't! If he comes around here again, so help me—"

"I'm not going to put up with your 'jealous boyfriend' behavior, Vegeta! I'm a grown woman; I can do whatever I want!" she yelled.

Vegeta ground his teeth together, flexing his jaw. _'Jealous boyfriend'?_

"Fine. Do whatever the hell you want; see if I care," he said quietly, storming out the door and walking off. Bulma sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her brows as the door slammed behind him. Why did she have to love such an egotistical jerk? She wasn't just some piece of property to him; she was way more than that, and he needed to see it, too.

Trunks began banging his sippy cup on the tray before launching it at her head—she was impressed and surprised when she caught it reflexively. _Well, _she mused, _at least he's in my human body now. He can't go very far. _She turned and sat down to enjoy her own breakfast, grumbling over her Saiyan enigma.


End file.
